


As good as it gets

by M_Moonshade



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Eiffel makes an ass of himself, Gen, I just think that these two are adorable as frick, Pizza, The Eiffel/Hera is there if you squint, as ya do, either works, you can either look at this as a date or a platonic outing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Eiffel gets back to Earth, he takes Hera with him to go get pizza.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As good as it gets

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only as far as Episode 19, so forgive me if I'm getting things wrong.

“Um… Eiffel? I think those people are staring at you.”

Some of them are trying very hard not to stare. Others are covering the ears of their children to spare them the sounds coming out of Eiffel’s mouth.  Even if they are seated outside, this is a pizza parlor, not a porn theater.

“Jesus skateboarding Christ, Hera.” He swallows the crust—the perfect balance of soft and chewy, made of actual wheat flour that was grown in the ground, covered with mashed up tomatoes and the fermented juices of a cow’s titties, and spices—oh God, spices!—he forgot what basil and oregano tasted like!—and fresh pineapple and bits of ham and—“Jesus, Hera. I could cum just eating this.”

“I highly recommend you don’t.” The manager is already giving them the evil eye. Or him, really. They aren’t aware that the fashionable shades covering half of Eiffel’s O-face are a visual interface for a rogue AI.

“Really, Eiffel.” Her voice sounds thin and reedy through the earpiece. If she were human, she would fidget. “They’re staring.”

It’s been a long time since she’s been under this kind of scrutiny from complete strangers.

“Okay, Hera. Okay.” With tremendous effort, he reins in his elation. “God, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had pizza? Real, live pizza?”

“I think I’m getting an idea,” she says, a smile returning to her voice now that their audience has stopped glaring.

He takes a swig of a pale lager. “And beer! Hera, do you have any idea!”

Five hundred days on the same ship together has refined the AI’s protocols. Derailing a disaster, she’s found, is easier than damage control.

“What’s it like?” she asks.

“It’s amazing! It’s—“

“I mean, what does it _taste_ like?”

“Jeez. You can taste the hops, and the sweet and there’s some apples in this brew, and a caramelized…” That’s about as far as he gets before he realizes the problem. A list of flavors and ingredients mean about as much to Hera as strings of code mean to him. So he stops. And he corrects. “It’s not that it tastes good, so much as it tastes _right_. It’s like a squeaky door to your favorite room, when you’ve had a long, rough day talking to people who annoy you. But then the day is over, and you come back to that room where everything is comfortable and yours and home, even if it doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to, and you hear that goddamn squeak and you know you’re gonna be okay.”

“You’ve got one hell of an imagination on you, Eiffel.” Her voice is warm, and Eiffel’s smile settles into a cozy grin.

“Well, you knew that already.”

“What about the pizza?” she prompts. “Describe the pizza to me.”

Now she’s challenging him. Naturally, he ups his game. No way is he repeating a metaphor.

“Pizza is fun. Think like one of those cute little jazzy numbers we used to hear from the broadcasts, remember?”

“I remember.”

“The crust is like the base line, or the drum beat. Half the time you don’t notice it, but it’s what gives the pizza substance. It’s the foundation you build the other flavors on.” As he describes it, Hera plays an audio track into his ear piece: a light, steady drum beat. “The cheese is like a snare, just light enough that you notice it, but it undercuts all the rest.” Just like the drum, the snare is added to the song. “The ham is like the trombone. It’s grounding, but vibrant. It gives the pizza that punch that you’ve gotta have. And the pineapple—that’s a sax right there. High and wild and it totally shouldn’t work but it absolutely does. “

By now she’s got a whole tune playing for only the two of them, so wild and vibrant and fantastic that Eiffel abandons his pizza to dance. Let the people stare, dammit. They can join him or they can leave, but they can’t judge him. Because after two years of deprivation and almost dying in space, he’s finally got solid ground under his feet, comfort food in his digestive tract, and his favorite person in the cosmos in his ears.

Tthis? This is as good as it gets.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna chat or want to suggest I write something, hit me up in the comments or at judiops.tumblr.com


End file.
